The Blues
by Insomniac37
Summary: Just another one-shot from just another insomniac. This one is for a goofy little Italian. Rated for language. Review me please.


He wasn't sure what had awoken him, but his one eye fluttered open. For a second Kid Blink stared up at the ceiling of the bunk room. It was dark. He wasn't sure if it was very late or very early. Either way, the only light was from the soft glow of the moon as it crept in through the open window. It threw some of the room into stark contrast compared to the shadowy corners. He leaned up on his elbow and looked around.

All the Manhattan newsies seemed to be sleeping soundly. He could see Jack's broad shoulders in the top bunk next to his. They were moving slowly with the rise and fall of his deep breaths. Leaning around a bit to see with his good eye he saw Skit's dirty feet hanging off the bunk across from his. To his left, Mush was sprawled across his mattress, one knee up in the air and his arms crossed behind his head. He grinned a little at the soft smile on Mush's face as he slept. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like '_momma_' and stirred, but didn't wake.

In the silence that followed a new sound pricked his ears. It was soft and distant, slow and melancholy. It was a harmonica, humming a sad, blue tune. Blink hung his head down over the edge of his bunk. Racetrack was not there. Curiosity made him slip noiselessly down out of his bed. He grabbed his pants off the hook on the wall and made for the window.

Out on the fire escape the song became louder. It was coming from the roof and he followed it. Sitting right on the low brick rail of the very edge of the roof sat Racetrack. His back was turned to Blink and just then, Blink couldn't bear to interrupt him. He didn't want him to stop playing.

The harmonica itself was reedy, jarring and a little out of tune, but the song was mesmerizing.

Wavering dissonant strains.

Quick combinations of skipping unconnected jots.

Long, high, ear-splitting, unbroken notes.

Deep, drawn, breathy, low chords.

The sound was ugly and sloppy, but beautiful in its own way.

All the while he could hear the emotion behind the reedy instrument and see Race's shoulder's shrug up and down as he breathed life into the music. The song ended with something like a sigh and Blink found he had leaned up against the wall of the Lodging House to listen. Race's song had put a half smirk, half sad smile on his face.

As if Race could feel Blink's eye on the back of his head he looked around. Race looked a little sheepish, as if he had been doing something wrong. Blink felt almost a little guilty, as if he had caught Race in the middle of something private.

"Heya Blink." He said softly.

"Heya Race." He murmured back as he crossed the roof to sit next to his friend.

"I wake youse? Sorry 'bout dat, Kid."

Blink gave a non-committal shrug and stared out at the streets below.

" 'S kinda pretty, dat." Blink said and nodded down at the old, silver and black harmonica in Race's hand. "I mean, not really, but dere's jus' somethin' 'bout it."

Race grinned and nodded his head.

"Yea. I like it too." He said holding it up to the moonlight to examine it closely.

"It was my fadda's. He taught me how ta play it. Taught me how ta play tha hoirses too."

Blink grinned, if Race was half as good at playing the horses as he was at playing the harmonica, he wouldn't have to sell pape's, that was for sure.

"Got t'ree thing from my fadda. His harmonica, his love a dem damn hoirses and dis." Race stuck his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out a large, dented gold pocket watch. He had seen the chain of it before, hanging from Race's vest, but had never thought anything of it. Race opened it and took out a photograph. It was folded, black and white and deeply creased, but Blink could make out three people in the moonlight.

What was clearly a six or seven year old Racetrack stood front and center. He had on a big smile and looked cleaner than Blink had ever seen him. He looked very much like the woman standing behind him. She was short, squat and dark. Italian to the bone, just like Race. The man next to them looked completely different. He was tall and thin with light-colored hair and beard. His eyes were bright and twinkled for the moment that his happy family had been frozen in time.

"He disappeared when I was ten. Left a note dat said he was into it big with loan sharks. I think he thought: me and me ma would be better off without him, but she jus' stopped smilin' all togetha. 'Cept when I'd play dis thing." He took out a cigarette and lit it. Blink knew the absence of a cigar meant Race had been losing at the tracks lately and didn't have the money for one.

"She died when I was twelve. And I jus' keep goin' back ta tha tracks and playin."

He handed the cigarette to Blink who took it and dragged on it as Race put the harmonica back to his lips.

A.N.: I don't own Newsies. This was really inspired by a song. Find the link on my profile. Seriously, it's worth it. Read it again while the song is playing. There really is something about the blues.

Also, I know I said my next post would be my sequel and I'm truly sorry, but when you're inspired, you're inspired. Right? Soon, I swear. I know I'm a liar. Sorry about that.


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